


Carrion Flowers

by GoreCorset (CorsetJinx)



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Cannibalism, Disturbing Themes, Post-Game, The Knife of Dunwall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 05:50:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6503434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorsetJinx/pseuds/GoreCorset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a Whaler returns home, and Daud’s second in command discovers that one of their own is not all they seemed. It is easy to ignore the bloodied uniform, the fingers stained crimson, the scent of death. But the wide mouth, the sharp teeth…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carrion Flowers

> _"We learned how on our own._
> 
> _Never needing help from you."_ \- Chelsea Wolfe

 

 

Their mouth was stained red, the taste and scent of copper so heavy that they were surprised no one could smell it. It coated the back of their throat, the inside of their mouth and the outside. Every single tooth was covered, still tasted of flesh and blood. Still ached from brushing against bone.

They stumbled into one of the few buildings that had yet to give way to rot from water, to vicious little rats climbing haphazardly up broken furniture or the _Weepers_ and their putrid vomit. 

The metallic taste filling their mouth returned tenfold, although it might soon fade, and they wondered if the plague carriers could smell it - even if they were miles below, and the mere thought alone was _enchanting_. These others who moved with the same kind of hazy, crippling unwellness. The same kind of sickness. Or, perhaps, the wayward Whaler pushed through the unhealthiness of their own thoughts, they were giving the plague victims too much of a poetic idealization. They had been around Mouse too long, listening to the half sung words she whispered, the singing of the charms she crafted beneath the watchful eye of Cis.

With a shake of their heavy, masked covered head, the Whaler drew themself up to their full six foot height. They needed to focus as they returned home. Needed to focus on the world around them. The soft lapping waves, the chatter of terrified and hungry rats. The nearly silent footfalls of other assassins. If they messed up this simple technique Daud would surely skin them alive.

If one of the others didn’t first.

The Whaler took a deep breath, eyes closing briefly. They focused upon the landing four floors above them and to the right. The front of the building had crumbled some time ago, like all things in the flooded district. The sunlight didn’t touch the fading wallpaper until just after noon, and the moonlight never really seemed to enter the room. Some of the others had taken it upon themselves to re-purpose the exposed room, making it a sort of washroom even though there was an intact bath in the room right next to it. But it was a good place to hang the leathers to dry after a good washing, and Daud hadn’t minded.

It also made for a nice perch when the weather was warm enough and they didn’t have patrol or were sent on a regular old mission.

It always felt like they were being pulled apart when they would _transverse_ , their mind focused on the shady room. The sunlight barely graced the graying, yellowing, sun bleached floorboards jutting out. Transversals always made them feel like their spirit had managed to pull itself free from the shell of a body. Their appearance broke apart like a mirage, bursting into remnants like ashes, they knew that for a fact, it happened to all of them. They had seen it over and over again. But when they stabilized the first thing they could remember was the blood smeared all over their wide mouth, their sharp teeth.

The blood in their mouth was not their own.

They should wash off the guard’s blood. It was stifling in their mask, the taste of bloodied flesh having faded into an odd sweetness. They had bit right through his cheek, torn it off his face with as much force as humanly possible. Daud hadn’t gifted them with superior strength, but the skills of a well cared for weapon. And they had used those skills to their advantage. Always did… but some skills had to be learned in order to survive this decomposing city. With trembling fingers, they began to pull at their hood and start to dislodge the straps of the iconic mask.

It was only after the first tickle of fresh air slid along the exposed tawny colored locks that they realized they were no longer alone.

“Lyle.” Thomas.

His voice rang clear throughout the nearly empty room. He addressed them as he did all his subordinates, a tone that was neither condescending or praising. A neutral tone that somehow rattles their very core. Perhaps it was the way his words would get under their skin, filling up the room. The empty spaces between the four make shift wash basins and tub. They pulled the mask away, keeping the gas mask stationary with their gore stained gloves. When did Thomas find them? Had he been watching them all along? The ever faithful mutt. Watching closer than Billie had - and oh, how Lyle had so much to say about Billie. But now was not the time.

The gloved hand which cradled their mask slowly dropped away. The straps swayed with the motions, air swirling into the long nosed mask. The sweat slicked and slightly coppery colored locks tumbled down from the whaler’s head, no longer supported by their mask. Their shoulder length hair pooled into the whaler’s hood, some stray locks curling against their cheeks. For just a moment they wondered what Thomas must be thinking.

_Lyle is sick. Lyle is a Weeper? Lyle needs to be fixed._

But they weren’t any of those things, right? They hadn’t become sick, hadn’t begun to change into one of those plague infected. They just…

“I’m not the kind of sick that you can fix,” the words came out as a hiss, a volatile promise rippling in the bitter waves. The harsh murmur of a siren, of one of the Sea Witch’s children. In another world, in another life, Lyle surely wouldn’t hide their thoughts and feelings like this. Surely the Whaler would be more willing to listen then jump down their superior’s throat. But Lyle was… afraid. It was there, buried under all the other thoughts and emotions. Buried under the waves, the scent of carrion flowers. In the state they were in, they couldn’t stand up to Thomas. They couldn’t take him in a fight. It was suicide.

“I know you aren’t sick, Lyle…” Thomas paused a moment, as if he were considering what words to use to frame his questions. Or demands. But Lyle only let the silence linger for so long, slow them down for so much time. The brunette set down the dirty mask, easing off the stained gloves. They’d wash them, and the uniform when this business was over. For now they curled rust colored fingers over the handle, turning it with care. The copper piping rattled violently for a moment, as if threatening them with the promise of breaking down like some of the others in the district had. The pipes gave another rattle before spewing forth cold water from the faucet.

Lyle grabbed the plug on the rim of the basin, pressing it into the drain to stop up the sink. They had all agreed not to waste any of the precious water, and they were not about to break that rule.

“Is it true, Lyle? That you are spending your free time-” Not that they really had any free time. Not since before the Empress’ death. “Hunting down… people. To eat.”

He was nervous. It took Lyle a moment, surprising them. They had never known Thomas to hesitate, to break his cool. To let something get under his skin. But this must have done it, must have really taken the cake, so to speak. Pale blue eyes slid across the sink’s edge, gaze creeping over the off-white porcelain. They wanted to turn their head, let Thomas get a glimpse of the whaler’s angular features. Of their wide mouth. Their sharp teeth - but they weren’t so sharp. No, not really. They were just like every one else’s. Well, give or take the buck teeth. But Lyle didn’t turn their head. Instead they moved their hands, easing opening belt buckles and latches, prying open their uniform like a cocoon.

“You’ve heard the rumors?” Of course he had. Rat had probably spread them like wildfire after seeing Lyle like this. With drying blood down their chin, neck, and their fingers prying flesh out from between their teeth. They had been messy that day. Foolishly so. They had allowed that talkative Whaler to see them this vulnerable. And of course his instant assumption was that Lyle was a cannibalistic monster who needed to be put down. Might be carrying the plague. It wasn’t all true, but it wasn’t really false… “I don’t do it often. It’s not a sickness, just a practice.”

There. It was out in the open. 

The coat fell from their shoulders with a thud, and cool air rushed up to trace over the exposed expanse of their flesh. Whatever wasn’t covered by the thin cotton sleeveless top they wore. The materiel was flimsy, warn thin and grey where it wasn’t slightly yellow or tarnished red. Holes had begun to make runs in the fabric, carelessly patched up. A faint tremor ran down the length of their spine. They could feel Thomas’s gaze on their back, probably tracing the wide shoulders, the length of their back. He could have easily cut them down at least a dozen times by now, and yet he remained where he was. Probably weighing their words.

“You do understand I will have to inform Master-”

“Do you really think Daud will give a damn that I might be a cannibal? I don’t eat the infected, Thomas. If it mattered, I would have already told him.” The usually calm blue eyed assassin snapped. Unable to stop themself from cutting their superior off. From cutting in and showing him such attitude. Their cheeks burned with shame. They reached out once more, turning the handle to stop the flow of water. They lowered their head, hands dipping into the cold liquid, letting it fill their tarnished palms. The water quickly began to take on a pink tinge. “I don’t need you to tell him something I should.”

“But you have failed to do so. And now this rumor of your cannibalism is spreading among the others, and causing general unrest. This cannot continue, Lyle. Get yourself cleaned up.” His words remained, long after he had gone. Like a slap to the face. A cold shock, colder than the water that they used to clean their face.

To say the least, Lyle didn’t know what to do, how to react. Thomas’ words were final. And it wasn’t as though the other could simply vanish without a trace. Daud would know, would find them. Would end them? Punish them with banishment? They didn’t know, and it was all so confusing. Of course this was bound to happen. How long could they keep pretending anyway? Mouse had warned them. Had warned them that flies are always attracted to those carrion flowers.


End file.
